


Ain’t no Poison Strong Enough

by Whumpaholic (ShadeShadow234)



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Fainting, Gen, Poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeShadow234/pseuds/Whumpaholic
Summary: “No, I was—“ the Milano turned, sharply, as a comet soared past the viewscreen at a couple hundred kilometres an hour. The sudden movement, even with inertial dampeners sent Peters world into chaos, like a big black void had appeared on the floor and was rapidly growing to consume his vision.





	Ain’t no Poison Strong Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/gifts).



> Man oh man I haven’t written for Guardians of the Galaxy in a hot minute. (Read: three years). I’m a little rusty with writing whump, but I hope you enjoy this regardless!

“Pete? Hey, Pete! Wakey-wakey, sunshine.” 

Peter groaned, rolling over in his bed. “Five more minutes…”

“Like hell, cmon you d’ast idjit,” there was a slight tug on his blankets, “up, and, at, em!” The voice continued, every word punctuated with another tug on his blankets, until they came loose and fled the bed. 

“Mmm- HEY!” Peter bolted upright, before rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Rocket… what are you even doing in here?” 

“Gamora told me to wake you up, idjit. Ask her.” Rocket said, with a definitive edge to his words, as if daring Peter to question him. 

Typically, Peter would have done so, and gladly, but either he had gotten drunker than he thought last night or the Milano had turned off it’s inertial dampeners and started doing spins. Two or three versions of Rocket laughed at him, before climbing three different sets of stairs, and Peter forced the world back into focus. 

He took his time getting dressed, if they sent Rocket to wake him up they could suffer the wait. Not to mention the world dipped like crazy whenever he bent over to pick up an article of clothing. 

Finally, feeling about as put together as he could manage, and checking that all his clothes were on the right way and not inside out, Peter followed Rocket into the cockpit of the Milano, where Gamora shot him a venomous glare on sight. 

“Maybe you were too busy drinking last night to remember, Peter, but the Rakstathosian ambassador wanted to see you this morning.” 

“Yeah, and? I was celebrating a job well done!”

Gamora took a moment to close her eyes and exhale, as if somehow this brief conversation had given her a migraine. 

“Well first off,” she began, “It’s the middle of the afternoon, the ambassador has filled our log with angry messages about punctuality. Second, it was a delivery mission, and third, you slept through the whole thing.” 

Peter mostly blocked out Rockets snickering, and licked his lips. 

“Well that sounds like his problem,” he began, and then paused. “…who was the ambassador again?”

It was a wonder Gamora didn’t eviscerate him on the spot, though it was a near thing. 

*** *** ***

Humming the chorus to ‘Mr. Blue Sky’, Peter pushed open the doors to the negotiations building, and walked confidently inside. A single secretary was sat behind the wide desk that greeted him, and she looked rather frazzled. She got about halfway through a welcoming spiel before jumping out of her seat as a phone began to ring and scrambling to answer it. 

Peter exchanged glances with Rocket, on his right and clutching potted Groot as always, and Gamora, who looked just about as done as she could manage without being rude. 

“Guess we’ll wait then,” Peter concluded, and winked at the secretary as she shot him a furtive smile. There were thankfully waiting chairs, which Gamora looked at disdainfully before declaring she’d be back in half an hour and “you’d better not get yourself in trouble, Quill.”

Rocket scrambled onto one of the seats near a table, which he carefully placed Groot on before pulling out… something explosive looking and tinkering with it. 

Peter, for his part, pulled out his walkman, trusted the secretary to wake him, and took a nap. 

The atmosphere of the planet was dense as Peter… as the Milano pulled itself through. Rakstathos was a beautiful forest planet, though they didn’t have much time to appreciate the scenery as patrol ships pulled up around them. Peter flipped on the intercom, and started shouting profanities, at Yondu, who was on the other ship. Yondu laughed at him, and then he was free falling through the atmosphere… falling, falling, falling… 

He landed in a bar stool, and took the drink pushed into his hands easily. ‘There we go,’ a voice soothed, and Peter let the evening fade to inky black as he fell from his stool and hit the floor. “Ow! Rocket! What was that for!?”

The d’ast trash panda took a moment to snicker at him, before pointing out the Rakstathosian ambassador, who managed to look entirely unimpressed, folding all four of his arms impatiently. 

“Mr. Peter Quill, I presume?” He began in a strange, warbling voice, but was interrupted as Peter hauled himself to his feet and brushed himself off. 

“Star Lord, please.” Peter said, with a wink and a smile. 

“… Mr. Quill, if you would please follow me to my office?”

With a sigh, Peter followed, leaving Rocket cackling in the waiting room before he resumed… was he taking apart a chair?

*** *** **

“And I believe it would be mutually beneficial if we were to… Mr. Quill, are you listening to me?” 

“What? Oh, yes, mutually beneficial. Good stuff.” Peter agreed, despite not having of heard most of what was said. He had been busy turning over the events of his dream in his mind. Well, the first half had just been weird… but had there been someone in the bar with him?

With an aggrieved sigh, the ambassador leaned back. “Mr. Quill, I am trying to strike a deal which would benefit both of us. It would be a great help to both of our organizations to stand strong in the face of… Mr. Quill!” 

“Hmm? Sorry, say that again?” 

“… very well, what is troubling you?”

“…what?” 

“Whatever it is is getting in the way of our negotiations, I would rather have a personal talk than sit here and speak to a wall for an hour.” 

Peter frowned, and mentally re-evaluated the ambassador. He was still bossy and hard to listen to, but he did seem to genuinely care. 

“Sorry, I’m just thinking over what happened last night. Crazy night at the bar, you know? …what’s wrong?” 

The ambassador had gone remarkably pale, and the spines on his elbows where beginning to puff out. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Quill, but I must ask you to leave immediately.”

“What? Cmon, surely getting a little drunk is forgivable, right? I had a rough day, aight?”

“No, no, not if he was… leave, please. Or I will be forced to call security on you.” 

“Hey, hey, if who was? What were you about to say?” 

The ambassador took a few deep breaths, forcing colour back to his cheeks and forcefully retracting his spines. “Who did you speak to in that bar?” 

“I was pretty drunk, I don’t remember anyone specific,” the ambassador started reaching for a security button, “aight, aight, hold on a minute, would you?”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and dug through the drunken haze that had become last night, trying to remember any faces. “Uh,, the bartender, a couple cute ladies…” 

“I’m not interested in your attempted exploits, Mr. Quill. Was there a tall man in a dark cloak? Perhaps with some sort of mask?”

“Uhm…. Yeah, actually! He bought me a drink…how did you know that?” 

But the ambassador had already hit the security button, and was pressed against a far back wall. Two armed guards barged in, grabbing Peter and dragging him out, even as he complained. 

Rocket too had been escorted out, it was only by a stroke of luck that he had been permitted to walk and therefore carry Groot, or there would have likely been bloodshed. 

“Great, just great. What did you even do in there, Quill?” He asked, pointedly, and punctuated by an angry little “I am Groot!”

“I don’t know, I mentioned going to the bar, and he wanted to know if some cloaked guy was there, and when I said yeah he freaked out.” 

“Way to go, Petey, you scared off a potential investor. Woo-hoo.” 

Peter grimaced, casting around for a comeback but coming up with nothing. Damn, why was it so hard to think straight? 

Back on the Milano, Gamora took one look at them returning early and rolled her eyes heavily. “Drax is on-board already, we were just waiting for you to return from negotiations. Did you at least remember his name?”

“Uh, well, not exactly, but that’s alright considering he kicked us out anyway. Definitely not my fault the guys a lightweight.”

“A lightweight? Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Drax managed to get in contact with a client on PX-3034.” Gamora said, leading them up to the cockpit. Or Peter up to the cockpit, considering Rocket had scampered off to wherever he kept his explosives. 

“PX-3034? Isn’t that that super cold planet?” 

“Yes, and our client wants to meet us there, so we’re touching down regardless of the temperature.” 

“Great. I’ll have to get my snow pants out and everything.” Peter grinned, and then took the pilots seat at Gamoras lack of response other than a raised eyebrow. 

“You know, pants that… nevermind. PX-3034, here we go.”

** *** **

“PETER!” 

Peter jolted out of his seat, barely catching himself before slamming into the ground face-down. “What? What’s going on?” 

A large grey hand landed on his shoulder, and hauled him up back onto his feet. “My apologies, friend Quill, but you would not wake and autopilot was not on.” 

Peter groaned, and rubbed at his eyes. “Couldn’t you just have turned it on? I was just getting to the good part…” 

“I do not know how. Which ‘good part’ are you referring to? You were asleep.” 

“You know, like a good dream? Things were just getting good!” 

“A… good dream?”

“Nevermind. Where are we?” 

“In the cockpit of the Milano. Friend Peter, are you sure you are feeling well?” 

“No, I meant… yeah, sure, whatever. I’m doing great.”

“Your face looks as pale as-“

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“… as the toilets in the Kyln.”

“What did I just specifically ask?” Peter dragged a hand down his face, and winced as it came away damp, and the room swayed around him. “Tell you what, I’m just gonna…” he leaned over his seat, and flicked autopilot on. The computer gave an affirmative beep, and then began steering. “There. Now, I’m going to my quarters to take a nap, and I swear to Ronan if any of you wake me up before we get there…” Peter shook a raised fist. 

“You will shake your fist at us?” 

“No, I was—“ the Milano turned, sharply, as a comet soared past the viewscreen at a couple hundred kilometres an hour. The sudden movement, even with inertial dampeners sent Peters world into chaos, like a big black void had appeared on the floor and was rapidly growing to consume his vision. 

Over the high-pitched ringing in his ears, he could faintly hear shouting, could feel hands brush past his shoulders, could feel the cold metal floor… he hadn’t even noticed he had fallen. 

*** *** ***

Drax adjusted himself after the sudden dip, just in time to see Peters almost forlorn expression. “… Drax…?” He managed, before his knees seemed to give out and he crumpled. 

The Destroyer lunged, barely missing his captain as he crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Peter? Peter!” 

He tried lightly tapping (read: heavily slapping) Peters cheek, to no avail. His head only lolled heavily, breathing heavy. 

“Gamora! Come here immediately!” During the moments between his shout and Gamoras arrival, Drax lowered an ear to Peters chest, trying to pick up the rhythm of his heart. 

Thump… th-thump. Th-thump. Thump……… th-thump.

Terrans were supposed to have a regular rhythm, weren’t they?

“Peter? Oh my god, Peter!” Gamora pushed her way into the cockpit, muscling in next to Drax and pulling Peters head onto her lap. “What happened to him?”

“I do not know, I remarked upon his pallor and he simply collapsed. I believe his heart is beating irregularly.” 

Gamora placed a hand against his forehead, and grimaced. “His temperature is far higher than a typical Terrans…” she turned to Drax, eyes brimming with concern. “I think the only thing keeping him alive right now is the non-Terran half of his biology.” 

In her grasp, Peter moaned, low and pained, and she carded her fingers through sweat-damp hair. 

“We have to get him medical attention.” 

There was a thump, a concerned “I am Groot?” And then Rocket was scampering over one of the seats, cursing as he caught a glimpse of Peter. 

“What’s the d’ast idjit done to himself now?” He asked, but he was already buckling in, switching off autopilot and wheeling the Milano around. 

Drax stood, and made his way to the communications seat, where Gamora typically sat. “To where are you taking us, Raccoon?” 

“That d’ast ambassador knew something was wrong.” 

It went unsaid there would be little of an ambassador left when they were done. If there was a good thing to be said about Rakstathos, their medical care faculties were excellent, and showing up through a hole in the wall did wonders for lowering prices. 

Gamora gathered Peter in her arms, and with the strength she gained form her years as a daughter of Thanos, she lifted. Peter was limp in her grasp, and the movement drew another groan from him, and Gamora had murder in her eyes as she turned. 

*** ** ***

When they landed, the ambassador tried to hide behind security guards, but even the most well trained of security were nothing before the anger of the Guardians of the Galaxy, and before they could do much more than extend their elbow-spines, they were out. 

The ambassador was cowering under his desk, denial on his lips even as Drax ripped his trembling form out. Rocket levelled one of his more… painful guns at him, and snarled. 

“What do ya know about what’s wrong with Quill?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you— AARGH!” The ambassador squealed as a bullet found home in his leg. 

“Wrong answer, try again.” 

“His name is Shadnit! He- he specializes in poisons I don’t know what he used on Mr. Quill please let me go.” The ambassador pushed out, in one breath. 

“Drax?” 

“This is the part where we hit you until you’re unconscious.” 

*** *** ***

Gamora greeted them outside, an evil glint in her eye. 

“Shadnit,” Rocket told her, and wordlessly, she left. 

Scrambling aboard the Milano, Rocket pulled out the stretcher Groot insisted they keep as he would be unavailable to carry anyone for quite some time. Drax gently deposited Peter on it, and the d’ast idjit looked even worse than he had before. 

Rocket brushed a paw over his forehead, and was forced to hiss and yank away, Peter was burning up. 

More importantly, he wouldn’t wake up.

The general hospital thankfully wasn’t far from where the Milano landed, and they must have reached it in record speed. 

Gamora joined them in the waiting room as doctors drew blood and began devising a cure. 

“Bastard wanted the fame of being one of the ones who killed a Guardian of the Galaxy.” They all bristled at that. “I showed him better.”

They didn’t bother asking where the body was. 

After what seemed like an age, a harried looking doctor burst out. “The- the treatments not working, do any of you… you’re here for a Mr. Quill correct?” 

“No, I’m here for a d’ast shot, of course we’re here for Quill!” 

“Aah, Sorry! We need a sample of what poisoned him, there’s not enough in his bloodstream to create an antidote.”

Gamora, who had been half expecting this but had hoped for the best pulled several bottled out of a pouch. “It could be any of these, he wouldn’t tell me.” 

The doctor paled suitably at that statement, but scooped all the bottles up before scurrying back into the treatment room. 

As the door swung shut behind him, all the team could hear was, “We’re loosing him!” And a high pitched whine. 

** *** ***

Peter felt like every limb had been weighed down by 100 ton weights, and sand coated the inside of his eyelids and mouth. 

It was a wonder he managed to focus on anything other than his eyes feeling gummy or his tongue, stuck to the roof of his mouth, but Peter could pick out breathing other than his in the room. 

What had happened? Getting drunk, negotiations, Drax waking him up to put on autopilot… and then just a white haze of pain. 

Oh hell, he was in a hospital, wasn’t he? He hated hospitals. 

“Pete?” A gentle voice asked, and Peter would have grinned had he the power. Trust Gamora to know when he woke up. 

Sliding his eyes open, he was treated to the sight of her smile. 

“Hang on,” she told him, and left his field of vision. She returned with a cup and a straw, which she helped him wrap his lips around. After he had drank deeply, Drax and Rocket had woken up, and he had enough awareness to see Groot, who was letting out small glowing spores and he smiled. 

“What, did Yondu never tell you to not take drinks from strangers?” Rocket questioned. 

“He was the one I had to worry about drinks from,” Peter responded, and they all laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, someone is always there at the bar with him after that. One close call is one too many.


End file.
